STEFAN'S POV
Ten years ago
Mom was crying.
Damon looked so pale.
My hands were shaking. My heart felt like it would beat straight out of my chest.
Breathe, I told myself, but my lungs stopped working. It felt as if a hand reached inside of me and stole my oxygen, and I was falling, falling, falling.
I was on the ground, choking, gasping. Hands were on my arms, my face, but my view was blurred. Water - no, tears - streamed down my cheeks and I was shaking. I couldn't stop, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
My head hurt. I felt like I was going to vomit even though I was on an empty stomach. The world was spinning. Where was I? Where was everyone?
"It's okay," I heard someone say, over and over again, like a chant. It echoed in the chambers of my head, in the body that wasn't mine. I looked around with eyes that didn't belong to me, that I didn't deserve.
"Stefan!" Another person said, but I was shaking my head. No, no, no. This was just a dream.
It wasn't real.
I killed him. I killed him.
The realization pulled me back to reality. Damon was kneeling in front of me, shaking me. My mother was standing behind him, her eyes red with tears.
"Sorry," I said, shaking out of my brother's grip and fisting my hand to stop it shaking. To stop my entire body from shaking. "Sorry," I said again when I saw their horrified faces. I walked away from them even as they called after me. I needed to go to my room.
When I shut my door, I practically fell against it. My heart was racing and I couldn't stop it. I curled my legs into my body as if I couldn't stop the shaking. Anxiety gnawed its way into my head, whispering into my ear.
Your fault, they told me. Poor, poor Stefan. It's all your fault. You killed your own father.
I pressed my hands against my ears. Stop, I begged. Stop these voices.
But they didn't cease. They haunted me, wielding swords that cut into my thoughts, bleeding words that stained my sanity.
"Stefan!" A knock on my door, but I couldn't stand. My legs felt broken, my eyes stung. "Stefan. Open up. It's Damon."
I couldn't stop the shaking. I tried to answer but my mouth was too dry and the words refused to form on my tongue.
Idiot, the voices said. Pathetic, fucking dumbass. You're so weak.
"Stefan, I'm going to come in if you don't answer me."
Breathe, breathe.
"I'm coming in in three, two, one..."
The door opened behind me and I moved away from it, wiping my face and trying to sit up straight, but it felt as if my bones were being crushed and my head hurt too much.
"Stefan." Damon knelt beside me and I tried my hardest not to break, not to cry, not to show weakness. God, I was so weak. I was sixteen. I shouldn't be acting like a baby.
"I'm fine," I said, my voice scratchy.
"No, you're not." He hugged me, but I pushed him away. "I'm fine, Damon. Please go."
"It's not your fault, you know."
"Go!" I yelled.
A part of me regretted shouting when he sulked out of the bedroom, but I made a vow to myself.
